The window he’d climbed through was on the opposite side of the room from the closet. To reach it, he’d have to cross in front of Volkov’s desk.
But if he stayed here and security found him...
Volkov’s phone rang. He answered in Russian, growling, although that could have just been the Russian.
This might be his only chance.
Skeet eased the closet door open. Volkov had his back turned, facing the windows while he argued with whoever was on the phone. The laptop screen cast an eerie glow across the building plans.
Moving as quietly as possible, Skeet slipped out of the closet.
One step. Two. Three.
Volkov’s voice rose, still speaking Russian. Still facing away.
Four steps. Five.
Almost to the open door.
Volkov looked up right then, andyep,there Skeet was, illuminated in the window’s reflection.
Never mind the guy barefoot in your bedroom.
Volkov shouted.
Skeet dove toward the deck. Volkov lunged after him.
But Skeet was already grabbing the bamboo framework and swinging himself down toward the lower level.
Please don’t let him break anything. He landed on the deck, inches from the pool.
Above him, Volkov’s voice carried through the night air, calling for security.
Lights blazed on throughout the villa. Footsteps pounded on the walkways. Voices shouted in Thai and Russian.
Skeet leaped off the deck and ran toward the spot where he’d left Chloe.
Empty.
His heart hammered as he scanned the shadows between the trees. Where was she? Had security found her? Had she run when she spotted the guards approaching?
Then a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him into a cluster of dense foliage.
“This way,” Chloe whispered. “I found us a back route to our villa.”
Give him a heart attack.Sheesh.
They scrambled through the jungle in silence, staying low and avoiding the flashlight beams that swept the area behind them. When they reached their own villa’s deck, both were breathing hard and covered in leaves and dirt.
“Well,” Chloe said as they slipped inside and locked the door behind them. “That was fun.”
Skeet rounded on her. “For the love! You were supposed to stay put.”
“And you were supposed to not get caught.” She crossed her arms. “Looks like we both have room for improvement.”
His mouth opened. Despite everything—the near capture, the evidence of attacks planned for in the next forty-eight hours, the fact that they were both probably made and on an updated hit list—Skeet found himself fighting a smile.
“Did you at least get what we needed?” she asked, her mouth tight.